


Scene: Rachel's Apartment

by PrettyLittlePoutyMouth



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Handcuffs, Kitchen Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyLittlePoutyMouth/pseuds/PrettyLittlePoutyMouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Christmas smut exchange with TripUpStairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scene: Rachel's Apartment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TripUpStairs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripUpStairs/gifts).



Sometimes, these days, Rachel finds herself structuring her life in script form.

_Scene: the APARTMENT, empty. The sound of the lock clattering as a key turns before the FRONT DOOR opens. ENTER QUINN and RACHEL, through the door from upstage, mid-conversation. RACHEL wears a short sleeved blouse and skirt and carries her shoulder bag, QUINN wears a knee-length dress and carries a plastic bag filled with Chinese takeout._

“Okay, but, see, singing _really_ isn’t his strong suit, which makes me wonder why he even went for the role at all, not to mention why they gave it to him. But aside from his performance, did you really think we did okay?”

“Rachel,” Quinn smiles, “Yes. I’ve told you that several times.”

“Okay,” Rachel smiles back hesitantly, “But it’s just intimidating, you know. Having a Yale drama student critiquing our performance.”

Quinn's smile changes to a smirk that she tosses over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen, “This conversation is starting to get scripted. I mean, I know that you know I’m just studying in the Theater program, not the Drama school. And I know I’ve assured you multiple times that what I’m studying really isn’t going to make me extremely critical of your work.”

“I know,” Rachel sighs a little, hanging up her coat and tossing her shoulder bag by the sofa, “But you’re not using the response that always soothes me,” she pouts.

“Hmm,” Quinn hums thoughtfully. She’s set the bag of takeout down on the table in the kitchen, and is now striding back out into the living room portion of the common area, “Maybe it’s time to try a different one.” She comes to a stop directly in front of Rachel—so close—and her hands slide delicately from Rachel’s ribs down to her hips, where they settle, gripping lightly. She leans forward, and Rachel turns her face toward her expectantly, but Quinn dodges to put her mouth beside Rachel’s ear instead, “It’s the same reason why, if I do choose to pursue theater seriously, we could never work together. It’s simply impossible for me to be objective about you or your work, because I’m in love with you, and because you performing? That has always been the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And at this moment, Rachel visualizes everything freezing, because her mind is snapping back to all the other times Quinn has husked in her ear in this very apartment, like an extremely potent form of déjà vu.

_The stage lights dim. QUINN freezes in place, and RACHEL steps downstage to address the audience in a monologue. A subtle spotlight illuminates RACHEL._

RACHEL: Quinn and I have been together for almost two years now. And while at first, sexual experiences between us progressed very slowly, it’s to the point where we seem to be attempting to christen the entire apartment with our trysts, much to my roommates’ dismay. _(Behind her, several doubles of the two of them file into the apartment from upstage, through the door. RACHEL continues speaking without a trace of shame, while the doubles enact the positions she describes behind her)_. There was the one time that she went down on me while I was on the couch, trying to watch a recording of a performance. And the time she tossed me onto the coffee table to have her way with me. She knocked over my laptop, but it was fine. And on the floor in front of the coat rack, I pulled her down with me. And against the door, she pinned me there. And in the bathroom, of course, in the shower, many times. _(Five couples file into the DOOR TO THE BATHROOM)_. And the bedroom, of course. That is where most of our sexual expression takes place. _(A steady stream of couples prance through the FRONT DOOR, displaying various degrees of intimacy and passion, to disappear backstage again behind the DOOR TO RACHEL’S BEDROOM in a continuous rotation)_. Like most couples, we appreciate the privacy and intimacy offered by my very own, not shared bedroom. And while it may not be soundproofed like my childhood bedroom—again, much to my roommates’ dismay, I am assured—we do our best to be courteous. But sometimes…well…let’s just say that no one can make me sing quite like Quinn Fabray. _(At RACHEL’s words, the RACHEL doubles each moan a moan that gradually turns into a strong, clear high note—a la Young Frankenstein)._

_RACHEL returns to her place in QUINN’s arms while the couples file out._

Rachel closes her eyes and sucks in a breath. Not only for Quinn’s words, which send a shiver down her spine all on their own, but for the intense flashback she just experienced as a scene onstage. In which each and every orgasm Quinn Fabray has ever given her in this apartment flash through her mind, like the collective intensity has maybe killed her, and it’s her _life_ flashing before her eyes.

A low chuckle sounds in her ear, and she knows Quinn is aware of exactly the kind of reaction she has just provoked in Rachel. Though, Rachel reflects dimly, she can’t possibly be aware of the intensity, amplified by that almost _comical_ stage production that played out in her mind. Almost comical, but undeniably arousing.

Rachel has always gotten into performance. And finding out how much Quinn enjoys watching her perform had become an aphrodisiac all on its own. And that thought catalyzes an idea—one Rachel has entertained before, but has never been sure how to enact.

So Rachel turns her head to plant her lips against the closest bit of flesh she can reach—which happens to be Quinn’s neck—and presses a hard line of kisses from her shoulder up to her earlobe, where she counters in a low voice, “Knowing just how much you enjoy watching me has the effect of making me extremely aroused after a performance. Like, say, right now.”

And she disengages herself from Quinn’s arms, despite the way Quinn’s hands have reflexively tightened around Rachel’s hips, to stride steadily to the kitchen. Quinn follows after a few moments, her eyes equal parts dark and glassy, her tongue peeking out slightly to run over her lips, which she presses together tightly. Rachel shoots her a beaming smile over her shoulder, “Would you mind unpacking the Chinese food, baby? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Quinn utters, her throat clearly constricted, and she clears her throat softly as she moves past Rachel, who disappears into the bedroom.

Quinn, for her part, isn’t _upset_ that Rachel has chosen to eat at this moment, though she is slightly disappointed that her earlier words, and Rachel’s confession, aren’t leading to sex as quickly as she’d like. Some things never quite change, and Quinn tends to be the aggressor in sexual situations. Early on, they moved at her pace, because she was the one who had more to work through with regard to her own sexuality, which just solidified the roles she and Rachel had already more or less fallen into in previous relationships: Rachel as the one who waits for a cue before beginning seduction and steering the encounter in the direction she likes, and Quinn as the one who makes the first move to set the encounter—and its general parameters—in motion.

But because of her distraction, she’s sort of uselessly bustling around the kitchen. She extracts a box of rice before deciding perhaps she should get out plates, only to get distracted halfway to the plates to consider putting water on for tea. In short, she has accomplished practically nothing in the span of the half a minute or so Rachel has been in her bedroom, and she blushes a bit when she notices Rachel standing at the edge of the kitchen smiling at her fondly.

“Um,” Quinn starts, licking her lips, “Do you want tea with dinner?”

Rachel doesn’t answer, just steps up to Quinn and rocks forward on her toes to kiss her. Quinn grins when the kiss lasts longer than a few seconds—a sign that it may lead to more, another little cue that has settled between them. Rachel’s hands press against her shoulder blades and then run down her body until they settle against her sides, her thumbs stroking Quinn’s abs under her dress. Quinn’s hands tangle in Rachel’s hair before her fingers trace down the dip of Rachel’s spine to settle on her ass, where she intends to squeeze lightly and draw Rachel closer, but… _something_ is preventing her from getting a good grip on Rachel’s right ass cheek.

Rachel gasps and nips Quinn’s lip when she feels where Quinn’s hands end up, and pulls away with a smirk at the same moment Quinn pulls away questioningly. Rachel’s hands slowly drift up Quinn’s chest, trailing along her sternum, then parting to trace Quinn’s collarbones before settling on her shoulders—skirting her breasts entirely. The way her fingers trail, though, elicits a little gasp from Quinn, and Rachel’s intense eyes and mischievous smirk, somehow deliciously seductive on her face at the moment, enthrall Quinn to the point that she is powerless to stop Rachel as she exerts gentle pressure on the blonde’s shoulders, urging her to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.

As soon as Quinn is seated, Rachel is straddling her lap, long, lean legs settling on either side of Quinn’s thighs. Quinn reaches automatically to grab the smaller girl—either by her hips or her ass, Rachel isn’t sure, because she intercepts Quinn’s hands before they get there. Quinn eyes flash bewilderment for a moment, and that’s how Rachel is sure of what she wants to do.

She likes scripts. And earlier, she had prodded for a scripted conversation, because sometimes the routine of repeating things is a comfort. But sometimes, Rachel wants to do something unscripted. And while sex with Quinn is never, ever boring, it _does_ tend to follow a formula. Today, Rachel wants to improvise. To ad lib.

Rachel shifts so that both of Quinn’s wrists are held in her left hand—barely, because her hands are small, but it helps that Quinn isn’t actively resisting. Rachel reaches into her back pocket to draw out the handcuffs.

They’re not a particularly fancy set; metal, not decorative, functional, but not professional quality or anything. She and Quinn had bought them together several months ago, and thus far, Quinn has only used them on Rachel. Rachel does enjoy the feeling of powerlessness, but mostly, she loves to watch the fire in Quinn’s eyes as Quinn takes total control over her.

As she draws them out, though, Quinn’s eyes are guarded, but as Rachel takes Quinn’s wrists and maneuvers them behind her back, on either side of a vertical slat of the chair back, their eyes meet. “Okay?” Rachel asks. Quinn swallows, but nods. Rachel reaches around to snap the handcuffs in place, her breasts level with Quinn’s face, and she can _feel_ the way Quinn’s breathing picks up, even through her shirt.

When she pulls back, resting her hands on Quinn’s shoulders and looking down at her, Quinn’s eyes are closed. She opens them slowly, and then Rachel can feel her shoulders move, and she watches as Quinn’s realization of what she’s let Rachel do fully dawns on her. Her brow draws together and her jaw tightens, and Rachel feels the little strain of her shoulders again.

Rachel kisses her before she can speak, and Quinn kisses back with palpable desperation. She draws back after every few kisses, just out of Quinn’s reach, to see the muscles of her neck bunch and strain as she tries to reach Rachel’s lips; Rachel always leans forward to capture frustrated groans in her mouth. Soon, her hands are drifting lower, lightly covering Quinn’s breasts, thumbs seeking out and stroking the fabric over her nipples. She draws away just enough to shift the attention of her lips to Quinn’s neck, feeling the muscles flex beneath her mouth as Quinn’s head falls back against the back of the chair, and Rachel hears a subdued, breathy moan near her own ear. Unable to help herself, she shifts her position so that her skirt rides up and she can rock her hips lightly against one of Quinn’s thighs.

At this, Quinn’s moan becomes suddenly audible, a little burst of raw passion. With a final nip, Rachel draws away to look at her. Quinn’s head is still titled back, eyes closed, lips parted and moving vaguely around not-quite vocalized moans. Quinn’s biceps and shoulders are flexed and bunched, straining against the cuffs, and Quinn’s thighs have parted to give Rachel space to move. Rachel moves a hand back onto Quinn’s shoulder, the other onto Quinn’s unoccupied thigh on the bare skin where her dress has begun to ride up, giving herself leverage to grind harder. She watches the blonde’s face for several long moments as the sensation of Rachel grinding her against her thigh causes her eyes to pop and her jaw to drop open.

The hand on Quinn’s shoulder drifts up to tangle in the blonde locks just behind her ear. Quinn’s eyes seem to find focus and meet Rachel’s, and abruptly her eyebrows knit together and she thrusts out her chest, desperately trying to get closer to the girl grinding her pussy against her thigh, and she rolls her hips forward futilely, as Rachel had been careful to place her knee too far back for Quinn to make contact. Rachel smiles, thoroughly enjoying the way Quinn’s scowl deepens.

“Remember how you were talking about enjoying watching me perform?” Rachel asks breathlessly, grinding down with extra force. Quinn’s eyes roll back for a moment before she regains her dark look. She presses her lips together stubbornly, raising an eyebrow in a clear expression of _you really want to talk about that right now?_ Rachel squeezes Quinn’s thigh hard and continues, “Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I enjoy watching you perform.”

“What?” Quinn croaks, clearly surprised, “Rachel, you really haven’t seen me perform much of anything.”

Rachel smirks triumphantly, “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Quinn. You see, I’ve seen you perform, and it gets me so wet.” She watches bewildered hazel eyes fluttered closed, then open again, blearily befuddled now. “As wet as I am right now, in fact. Can you feel that, Quinn? Can you feel me soaked through my panties onto your thigh?”

Quinn expels a little puff of air that sounds like, “God,” then bites her lip hard and clears her expression, trying hard to put back on the irritated, challenging visage she wore earlier.

“It’s because I’m watching you perform right now. I’ve been watching you pretend to hate the fact that I have you cuffed down. I’ve been watching you trying not to let me know that it’s getting you absolutely soaked. But I know better, baby,” she purrs, trailing her right hand up Quinn’s inner thigh until it brushes against the hem of Quinn’s panties. Rachel slips a finger inside the leg hole, tracing the fabric until she feels wet against her knuckle and groans out loud. Quinn’s chest heaves with panting breaths as she suppresses her own moan.

“Mmm,” Rachel moans as she moves the panties to the side so that two fingers can stroke delicately, “And the way you try not to make a sound…it’s another one of your little performances. Let go, Quinn,” she orders as she slips two fingers inside.

Quinn’s eyes fall shut and her back arches in a way that looks absolutely painful, but the _(loud)_ moan she releases is one of desire and pleasure. And Quinn is _so wet_ , Rachel’s fingers slide inside easily, and Rachel feels her own eyelids flutter at the way Quinn _trembles_ around her fingers.

“Oh, Quinn,” Rachel breathes, and Quinn’s hips shift forward on the chair even more, her thighs spread wider, and Rachel attempts to work her fingers for several moments, reveling in the feel of Quinn tight around them. But as much as she’s enjoying it—and _God_ , she is, it’s making her thrusts of her own hips erratic—the angle is awkward, and with a disappointed sigh, Rachel withdraws her fingers and slides entirely off Quinn’s lap, stepping back several paces to take in the sight.

 _Scene: the APARTMENT, QUINN and RACHEL in the KITCHEN. QUINN is handcuffed to a chair, her legs spread, her dress pushed up to her waist, her panties only half-covering her. She is disheveled and panting, and she stares at RACHEL with frustration bordering on fury. RACHEL stands a few paces away, two fingers in her mouth being thoroughly sucked and licked, a hungry, smug expression on her face as she meets QUINN’s gaze head on_.

Rachel shivers at the pure power and appetite the scene, thusly described, invokes in her.

“Rachel,” Quinn growls warningly when Rachel has done nothing but stare and clean her fingers for almost twenty seconds.

Rachel smirks, “Look at you,” she murmurs, “Still trying to pretend you have the power here.” Deep down, she knows that Quinn _does_ , that Quinn could put a stop to this at any moment by using the safeword Rachel selected the first time Quinn, with trembling hands, put the handcuffs around her own petite wrists. But… “But you don’t, and you know what? You love it. I can taste the evidence all over my hand,” she curls her tongue lewdly around a digit in emphasis.

Quinn moans, just as lewdly, and follows it immediately with a breathy little, “Ohmygod.”

“Quinn,” Rachel says, her voice softer now, but still authoritative, “All you have to do is ask.”

Quinn closes her eyes and sucks in a breath. She releases it slowly, and when she opens her eyes, all challenge is gone, and her hazel gaze is… _enraptured_. “Rachel….touch me,” Quinn utters, desperation laced with pleasure in her voice, “Please,” she adds in a whisper.

Immediately, Rachel moves forward until she is dropping to her knees in front of Quinn. The way Quinn murmurs “please,” not to mention the fact that tasting Quinn on her fingers has left her throbbing for the past minute, is driving Rachel to desperation. All she can hear is her heart hammering in her ears as she pushes the rest of Quinn’s dress up to her hips and grabs Quinn’s panties to yank the fabric fully aside. She presses her tongue flat against Quinn and just pauses for a moment, whimpering as she feels Quinn’s clit thrum against it. Dimly, she registers Quinn taking Jesus’s name in vain through the blood rushing in her ears.

Rachel begins to slide her tongue all along Quinn, one hand still holding the panties aside, the other digging short nails into the firm muscle of Quinn’s thigh; she seems to currently lack the focus to do anything else with her hands. She slides her tongue inside, wanting to feel if Quinn is still clenching and trembling, but soon is back to brushing her lips and tongue feverishly over Quinn’s clit, clenching her hands.

At first, her only rational thought is _so good_ , but as she begins to establish a rhythm of pressing lips and flicking tongue, she opens her eyes for a moment to peer up at Quinn, taking in the way her head has tilted a bit to the side, the way the muscles in her arms bunch, and she _knows_ Quinn is aching to dig her fingers into Rachel’s scalp to subtly direct her head (unnecessary, because Rachel is doing fine on her own, but knowing Quinn _wants_ to, and _can’t_ …the surge of power increases Rachel’s intensity, just as the power denied is surely increasing Quinn’s). And all at once, it comes to her again.

_Scene: the APARTMENT, QUINN and RACHEL in the KITCHEN. QUINN is handcuffed to a chair, her legs spread, her dress pushed up to her hips. Her head is thrown back in ecstasy and she moans in equal parts encouragement and blasphemy unabashedly. RACHEL’s head is between her thighs. RACHEL herself is on trembling knees, her eyes closed in pleasure as she slips her tongue all over Quinn’s folds. Her shaking hands are mostly stationary, one holding QUINN’s panties to the side, one gripping her thigh. As if suddenly, self-consciously aware of her inactive hands, RACHEL removes the hand gripping QUINN’s thigh to slide two fingers into QUINN’s pussy._

Inexplicably, the new script Rachel is writing in her mind causes her own inner walls to clench hard around nothing. “Fuck,” she whimpers precariously against Quinn, the word muffled incomprehensibly. And either that, or the desperate pressing of Rachel’s tongue and fingers a split second later, cause Quinn’s back to bow and her hips roll up, hard, rhythmically, to meet Rachel’s mouth.

Rachel snaps her eyes open again at just the right moment to watch as Quinn comes, hard. Rachel can see her chin and throat, just past Quinn’s heaving chest, can see the way her throat works to expel a series of loud, low moans, and Rachel presses her mouth eagerly back against Quinn as her hips rush upward in firm thrusts.

When Quinn slumps back breathlessly, Rachel finds herself in the same state, and it takes her a moment to realize that she is still on her knees, resting her slick cheek against Quinn’s thigh and just staring up at her with wide eyes. The sight of Quinn Fabray coming…well, that will probably always leave her breathless.

But when Quinn opens unfocused eyes, Rachel snaps to attention. She remembers how she had felt the first time Quinn made her come wearing the handcuffs, how she was nearly in a panic to take them off so that she could just _hold_ Quinn and feel close to her, and Rachel scrambles up, wiping absently at her mouth, to lunge for the handcuffs to take them off.

She’s half on Quinn’s lap, reaching behind her to fumble with the cuffs, and when they fall noisily to the floor, Quinn finally murmurs quietly, “Thank you,” in such a reverent tone that Rachel is not quite sure whether she’s being thanked for removing the handcuffs, or for her decision to use them to make Quinn come.

Rachel leans back, grabbing one of Quinn’s hands to massage her wrist, and looks up to give the blonde a half-pleased, half-uncertain smile. “Are you okay? Was that okay?”

Quinn gently disengages her hand from Rachel’s, prompting Rachel to link her arms around Quinn’s neck instead. Slow, lazy hands settle on Rachel’s hips, resting there, feather light, “Yes, that was definitely okay. Though, next time, we should probably talk first before trying something like that.”

Rachel’s grin turns a little sheepish. “Sorry. I just…I was sure you’d deny that you would enjoy that. Do you need a minute to recover?” she changes the subject quickly, “I know how exhausting being restrained can be, and then perhaps we can reheat dinner.” Concerned about the possible misstep, Rachel elects to ignore her own arousal. Perhaps she can persuade Quinn to revisit it after some time has elapsed.

“Hmm,” Quinn hums noncommittally, and Rachel is about to bite her lip in concern when Quinn’s hips buck, hard, causing Rachel to stumble backwards off her lap. Quinn is on her feet in moments, the hands on Rachel’s hips suddenly firm, keeping her balanced, and those strong hands twist to maneuver Rachel so that her back thumps against the rim of the counter. Quinn’s careful, so it’s not too rough, but Rachel still winces a little. The way Quinn immediately moves to press the length of her body against Rachel in a slow arch immediately erases any pain from Rachel’s mind.

“Where are your roommates, anyway?” Quinn murmurs lowly in her ear, her hands gripping the counter on either side of Rachel’s ribs, and just like the beginning of their evening, it sends a tingling shiver down Rachel’s entire body.

“Um,” Rachel swallows, “Elsewhere. Class, work, I don’t know.”

“Mmm,” Quinn responds neutrally, “And you don’t expect them back?”

“I…no, I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”

“Mmhmm. That’s good. Because we both know how they all tend to react when I fuck you in common areas. How do you think anyone would react if they’d have come home to you going down on me while I was handcuffed to a kitchen chair?”

Rachel squirms.

They have never been caught fully in the act. A few times they have been caught, for lack of a better term, rounding second. And though those experiences were always humiliating and involved apologies to roommates and awkwardness for a few days…Rachel keeps risking them. It hadn’t taken Quinn very long to see the pattern and to figure out Rachel was lying about the expected arrival time of her roommates’ homecoming and cutting their estimated alone time awfully close to said arrival time. Since that time, Quinn has used the thrill Rachel gets from the _risk_ and the _idea_ of being caught (because the _reality_ …not sexy) to wind her up. And Quinn using it now…she’s taking back control, taking things back to where she is slightly more comfortable, and Rachel is happy to let her.

And the question has its desired effect. Rachel subconscious arches her back to press her body fully against Quinn’s, but grins a little. “I think most of them would have said, ‘oh my God, my eyes are bleeding.’”

Quinn bites her earlobe and chuckles slightly, “Yes, I think they would have been very upset. But I have to know. Are you honestly not expecting them home?” Her voice drops to growl a bit, “Or is one of them going to come home to me fucking you up against the kitchen cabinets?”

“Oh,” is all Rachel can manage for a moment as her eyelids flutter closed and her eyes roll back. Her back arches and she steadies herself by grabbing onto Quinn’s shoulders. Finally, she licks her lips and murmurs, “No, I’m being honest. I don’t think anyone will be back until late.” She lowers her head to gaze at Quinn through her eyelashes, “You can fuck me anywhere you like.”

Quinn just smirks and sinks her teeth into Rachel’s neck. Rachel swearing is still uncommon enough that it sends a little spike of arousal through both of them. The hands on Rachel’s hips abruptly tighten, fingers digging in, and Quinn murmurs into Rachel’s shoulder, “Up,” tugging at Rachel’s body for emphasis.

“Up?” Rachel squeaks, glancing at the counter behind her, and tries to force her trembling arms and legs to lift herself up. Quinn, with her surprisingly strong arms, does help a good deal, and Rachel ungracefully scoots around to try to keep her balance. As soon as she’s stable, Quinn’s hands begin to glide down her hips until they’ve passed Rachel’s skirt and rest on bare thigh.

“God, your legs,” Quinn murmurs reverently, digging her nails into the flesh to lightly scratch, curving in a wave along Rachel’s inner and upper thighs. When she reaches Rachel’s knees, she runs her fingers back up Rachel’s inner thighs, exerting light pressure along the way to part them. Rachel doesn’t resist; in fact, her legs fall open wider than Quinn expects. She suppresses an appreciative moan and stands between the thighs that have spread _for her_ , running her hands up Rachel’s body to her breasts. And as she tilts her head up to kiss Rachel—which feels odd in and of itself—Rachel’s legs lift to link around her hips.

“Oh, hell yes,” Quinn growls, abandoning breasts to grip under Rachel thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter. Rachel grabs onto Quinn’s hair and shoulders to steady herself as she’s tugged, then tightens her legs around the other woman. Quinn trails teeth and tongue down Rachel’s neck as her fingers knead thighs, sliding around to roughly grab any part of Rachel’s ass she can get to. For her part, Rachel moans throatily, her fingers tangling in Quinn’s hair; Quinn doesn’t even notice her hair being pulled out as she lifts a hand to yank down Rachel’s shirt collar, exposing the hot, sun-bronzed skin of Rachel’s sternum that Quinn knows _needs_ to be grazed with her teeth…

Rachel moans, her hands pressing down on Quinn’s shoulders; she’s really trying to keep herself grounded, because _God_ , she feels safe in Quinn’s arms but also like she can’t trust her own body to keep herself stabilized on the counter. Quinn, however, seems to read her intentions differently and gives her a heated look, “Someone’s eager. Are you thinking about how I’m about to finish fucking you in every possible room of your apartment? I can’t believe we’ve never tried the kitchen before; you’re the perfect height up here for me to do so many things to you.” She emphasizes her point by sliding her hand easily beneath Rachel’s skirt, where she traces the ridges and folds beneath soaked fabric a few times before hooking fingers into the waistband and tugging. Rachel grips her shoulders again to lift her hips, unhooking her legs to allow Quinn to step back and slide the panties down to the floor.

Quinn glances up with predatory hazel eyes when she finds herself kneeling at Rachel’s feet. Her hands begin to slide up the insides of Rachel’s calves, gradually spreading Rachel’s legs again, while her mouth follows along, licking and kissing up to the inner thigh, where she begins to leave a series of bites and suckles. Her hands flip Rachel’s skirt up and she trails her tongue along thigh and hip until she can _taste_ Rachel.

Rachel’s hands are back to Quinn’s hair, tangling and digging into her scalp while Quinn bends forward, her face nestled between Rachel’s thighs. She strokes at Rachel’s clit with her tongue before sliding it inside tight, wet heat. Rachel’s head falls back against cabinet doors with an audible _thump_ , but if she’s bruised her head, she doesn’t seem to notice. “Fuck,” she gasps breathlessly.

Quinn slides her tongue out and draws as much of Rachel’s folds as she can into her lips, swirling her tongue a few times before continuing the path up Rachel’s body with a firm lick to her hipbone. Rachel’s hips jolt so hard she’s sure she would have dislodged herself if not for Quinn’s hands holding her hips steady.

“You’re soaked,” Quinn observes, her voice quiet and low, breathy, “God, you can’t wait for me to fuck you on this countertop, can you?” she growls through her teeth, then bites Rachel’s collarbone firmly as two fingers push inside her.

Rachel emits an incomprehensible noise somewhere between a moan and a yelp and Quinn begins to thrust and press with her fingers immediately, and Rachel’s hips just as quickly pick up the rhythm to thrust back. Her thumb flicks rapidly, a little sporadically, over Rachel’s clit as the fingers inside stroke. Quinn wraps her other arm tightly around Rachel’s waist, steadying her, leaving her mouth close enough to Rachel’s breasts that her teeth and tongue nibble and lick, coaxing out nipples beneath the fabric of Rachel’s blouse and bra. Quinn’s bent at the waist a little awkwardly, but the way Rachel reacts as she drags her teeth over a nipple, the fabric sliding roughly along with them, makes it worth it.

It’s at this moment that Rachel finds herself able to focus just enough to mentally take in the scene she’s currently a part of.

_Scene: the APARTMENT, QUINN and RACHEL in the KITCHEN. RACHEL is seated on the edge of the counter, her skirt pushed up, and her head thrown back against the cabinets. QUINN stands between her wantonly spread thighs, bent forward a bit awkwardly, her right hand curling and thrusting into RACHEL at a feverish speed and intensity. Her tongue and teeth leave wet spots all over the breasts of RACHEL’s blouse, while RACHEL’s hips meet Quinn’s thrusts forcefully. RACHEL is getting so fucking close oh my fucking God…_

Rachel’s hips begin to jolt upwards with more intensity and her hands, gripping hair and shoulders and back and anywhere else Rachel can reach, are suddenly tugging at the edges of blonde hair, “Quinn,” Rachel cries out in a pitchy voice, “Oh, I’m so close, Quinn, don’t let me fall off the counter.”

Quinn presses her tongue firmly against a nipple before murmuring, “I’ve got you, baby, shhhh. Just come for me.”

“Ohhh fuck,” Rachel moans, and then Quinn _feels_ her coming, all over, from the pulsing and clenching inside, to the throbbing of her clit on Quinn’s thumb, to the way her thighs clamp suddenly around Quinn’s waist and the hands in her hair _pull_ , and her whole body, from hips to shoulder, spasms and arches, pressing into Quinn’s face and chest. Quinn tries to keep her hold on the flesh of the breast between her teeth, but loses it and ends up presses her face into Rachel’s chest, moaning herself as she feels Rachel come apart around and against her.

When Rachel’s body finally relaxes, Quinn reaches up with her left hand to cup the back of Rachel’s head. “Are you okay?” she asks, gently slipping her other hand out of Rachel’s pussy and absently wiping them on her dress—distracted as she is by Rachel’s potentially bruised head.

Rachel grins, “Are you kidding? I’m _fantastic_. Quinn, that was…” Rachel just shakes her head in a rare moment of speechlessness, then finally confesses softly, “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Quinn blushes a little, but threads her fingers in Rachel’s hair and retorts, “No, silly, I meant your head. I think you hit it a few times.”

“Did I?” Rachel frowns, then shrugs, “I’ll be fine. But now that dinner’s gotten cold, I think we should enjoy the time we have before the others get home to take a shower.” She winks.

“Insatiable,” Quinn smirks, taking Rachel’s hands to help her down from the counter; Rachel’s knees are still trembling slightly. Quinn crouches to scoop up Rachel’s soaked panties after she’s safely on her feet. Rachel smirks as she observes the action and can’t help but imagine…

_Scene: the APARTMENT, QUINN and RACHEL in the KITCHEN. Both are disheveled and wear post-sex flushes, especially RACHEL, who is also still a little shaky. RACHEL leans up on her toes to give QUINN a slow, appreciative kiss, then giggles and lightly slaps QUINN’s ass to coax her to follow RACHEL into the bathroom. QUINN and RACHEL EXIT, through the DOOR TO THE BATHROOM._

_(Pause for several long seconds)_

_RACHEL, topless, ENTERS through the DOOR TO THE BATHROOM, scampering back to the KITCHEN with a slightly panicked expression, where she retrieves the handcuffs from beneath the kitchen chair. Then, smug grin firmly in place, she EXITS, through the DOOR TO THE BATHROOM._

_FIN_


End file.
